


Her Biggest Adventure

by Hot_elf



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Lots of it, Resolved Sexual Tension, Set After Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_elf/pseuds/Hot_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come after me," she told him before she got on the plane... And Jack can't resist the challenge. A steamy reunion in London ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Biggest Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> This is set right after season 3, episode 8, so it will probably be AU once season 4 (hopefully) is aired. I just couldn't wait...

**Her Biggest Adventure**

She can still taste him on her lips, even now, several hours after the plane has taken off and they've left the airfield behind. _Jack_. There's no way to stop herself from smiling at the memory, and Phryne is glad that the seating arrangements in the tiny Avro Avian don't allow Henry to see her expression or to comment on her state of mind.

She hadn't been sure Jack would show up. He's not a man given to grand romantic gestures, after all, and he's leery of showing his feelings. _And if that isn't the understatement of the year._ They've been playing this game for so long, a gamble for the highest stakes, and now that the cards are on the table, her head is spinning with the implications.

Now that he's kissed her.

Oh, she'd been waiting for that kiss. She's wanted this, wanted him, for so long now. A kiss that had been anticipated for so long… By rights it should have turned out to be a disappointment. But it hasn't. Not at all.

Jack's mouth on hers, no hesitation this time, no holding back, and part of her is still reeling from the intensity of it, marvelling at the passion conveyed in that one brief meeting of their lips. She's been kissed with far more skill before – many of her past lovers were more experienced, more adroit, more worldly than Jack Robinson. But no one, not a single one among them has ever kissed her with such undivided focus. No other kiss has made her-

The plane wobbles, hit by an unexpected gust of wind, and Henry yells something unintelligible. Cursing under her breath, Phryne forces herself to focus on flying. How stupid would it be to die in a plane crash, now that they've finally made the leap?

But Gods, his voice. That rough edge in his voice when he says her name, when he talks of "romantic overtures" and his fear of losing her. As if she could forget that kiss, no matter how many hundreds and thousands of miles lie between them. As if it would matter, even if she succumbed to another man's charms in the meantime.

And the strength of his arm around her… She's noticed it before, back at the beach in Queenscliff, when he was sporting that swimsuit, that he's a lot more muscular than you would guess if you'd only seen him in his suits. It's a wiry strength, and it suits him, fits his character to a tee.

Phryne knows without the shadow of a doubt that she needs to see him again, to kiss him again. And if they do, when they do, she won't let anything or anybody come between them. Not anymore.

Much later, when rational thought has returned, she admits to herself that her decision to leave at this precise moment wasn't strictly rational. Sure, she wants to save her parents' marriage. But there would have been other ways. Phryne isn't in the habit of lying to herself, and deep down inside, she knows, she is glad to be able to get away, to put some space between herself and that massive onslaught of emotion.

And yet… She's told him to come after her, hasn't she? It's a challenge, and she's almost certain he won't be able to resist it. Almost. Not quite. It's a gamble, and she's aware of the risk. But where would be the fun in a life without risk?

* * *

Jack is nervous. He's doing his best to hide it, to conceal the shaking of his hands and to keep from fidgeting with his hat. The painted aristocrats on the wall of the grand London townhouse seem to be observing him, staring down their noses at this upstart inspector from the colonies who's come to stake his claim on the last of their line. Jack is pretty sure they wouldn't approve of him, but then, in all probability, they wouldn't approve of Phryne either. The thought makes him smile.

The door at the top of the staircase opens, and his heart beats faster. This is the moment he's been waiting for, the scene he's played through in his mind over and over again all through the tedious passage to England. Any moment now, Phryne is going to greet him with that wry little smile of hers and he- He still doesn't know what he's going to do, to be perfectly honest. He's never been able to predict what she'll do or how he'll react to it. That's part of her charm.

"Just a moment, Inspector." The bland voice of the maid, polite but distant, a far cry from what he really wants to hear.

Still she's keeping him waiting. After all those months missing her, thinking of her smile, her eyes, her… Yes, her body, too. He's already seen far too much of her, and there's no way he can keep his mind from wandering there while he's lying awake at night, in the small hours.

He's asked for an extended leave of absence. The commissioner wasn't happy, but acquiesced when he threatened to quit. It's madness, he knows, but then again, what's keeping him in Melbourne nowadays? Hugh and Dottie are wholly wrapped up in each other, as newly-weds should be, and he sincerely wishes them all the happiness in the world. And who else is there? Rosie? He'll always respect her and think fondly of her, but that's all. No. All that matters is here, in this country, in this town, in this very house.

"Inspector." The maid is back, handing him a note, written in Phryne's elegant, sweeping hand.

He catches a whiff of her perfume from the paper, and it's almost enough to make him lose focus. Quickly, he scans the missive.

_Jack. You're here._ There's the tiniest waver in the lines of the last letter, a tiny tremor of her hand, as if she'd hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. _But this is not the time nor the place for our reunion. Please let my maid know where you're staying. I'll be there tonight, at eight. Love, Phryne._

He's torn between laughing and cursing, disappointment gnawing at his insides at the same time as he acknowledges that it's only to be expected. Just like Phryne to make sure she's in control of the situation. Then again, she probably needs some time to prepare.

She's right about the place, too. He doesn't fancy meeting her here, under the disapproving glares of her ancestors.

"Tell Miss Fisher that I'm staying at Grosvenor House, room 29." He dithers for a moment, wondering whether he should add anything to the message, but then decides against it. She'll know.

She's just a little late, not fashionably so, and when he hears her knock, his heart flips over and he forgets to breathe for a moment. He opens the door, and there she is, dressed in a floor-length scarlet cloak and a matching little hat, immaculately made-up, a vision of flawless elegance.

But before he can fully appreciate the sight, she's already in his arms. "Jack."

All the carefully prepared greetings, all the professions of love and affection die on his lips and he can't do more than whisper her name before his mouth finds hers. Dimly, he's aware of pushing the door shut with his foot, and then he's kissing her, drinking in her taste, her scent, and he's already trembling with urgency, unable to hide his desire any longer.

For so long she's been tempting him, all those flashes of skin, her legs arranged on his desk, so he couldn't possibly miss how shapely they are, her hips swinging seductively as she led him a merry chase. Now she's here, in his room, in his arms, and he can't hold back any longer. _The man who always does the noble thing_ , she'd called him, months ago, before Aunt Prudence had interrupted them. But right now, his feelings are anything but noble and judging from the way she's moaning into his mouth, neither are hers.

And then she shrugs off the coat, and underneath she's wearing the merest nothing made of lace, and his brain just short-circuits. "God damn it, Phryne!"

She laughs, deep in her throat, and wraps one of her stocking-clad legs around his waist, grinding against him, and it's all he can do not to have her right there, up against the door. Not that she would mind, in all probability.

But he wants her on the bed, wants to take his time with her, because damn it, he's waited forever for this, and he wants to savour every moment. So he pushes her back, even though it's a struggle, and takes her hand to lead her to the bed. Phryne follows willingly once she's grasped his intention, and when he sits down on the edge of the mattress, she steps between his legs and begins to take off his tie.

Her movements are controlled, unhurried, but when he looks down at her hand, he can see that she's trembling, too, and the realization makes him feel oddly powerful: She wants him, just as much as he wants her, and she's running out of patience. Encouraged by that thought, he raises both hands to cup her breasts through the lace, and she moans again, closing her eyes as her head sinks back. Her nipples are taut and hard under his touch, and once again, he has to take a deep breath to collect himself.

His tie comes off, and she starts to unbutton his shirt, and he wonders whether she can feel his heart hammer against his ribcage as she places her cool hands on the bare skin of his chest. He swallows hard and pulls her even closer, burying his face between her breasts, and suddenly he can't wait to get his mouth on her, and he's tugging impatiently at the neckline of her negligée.

"Wait." It's the merest whisper, hoarse with want, and she's guiding his hand to the lacings, helping him undo them.

Moments later, his lips close around a perfect bud and it's heaven. He tastes her skin, feels it pebble under his tongue and instinctively sucks harder. Phryne whimpers, her hands tangling in his hair, mussing him up beyond repair, and she sways on her feet. Without thinking, he pulls her in his lap, gasping when she brushes against him.

"Jack." Her eyes are feverish as she finds his mouth again, kissing him deeply, and he's drowning in her, losing track of time and his surroundings.

"Phryne, please." He knows he can't wait much longer.

Their remaining clothes come off, and Phryne naked is even more perfect than he's imagined, so much softer and sweeter, and she is his to touch now, his to taste. His hands roam her body, tracing every curve, and when he slips his fingers between her legs, she's wet for him, so wet and ready that he shivers with instinctive pride.

She's done with waiting, too. Arching into his touch, she mutely begs for more, and he's not about to deny her. Moving between her legs, he positions himself, then hesitates. It's been so long, and she is… But before he can finish the thought, she catches his gaze. Her eyes are large and dark, and her expression is more vulnerable than he's ever seen it.

His eyes never leave hers as he slowly pushes forward, breathing deeply to hang on to his last shred of control. Phryne's lips open in a mute sigh and she spreads her legs wider, allowing him to sink deep inside her, and she feels so incredibly good. It is sheer bliss, hot and soft and sweet, and he knows that nothing will ever be as perfect as this. _Phryne_.

* * *

Phryne has had many lovers, and most of them have been at least satisfactory. Some of them have been spectacular. But the moment Jack enters her, fills her, joins his body to hers, something happens that goes far beyond mere lust. Oh, he feels good inside her, no doubt about that. But there's little refinement to their coupling, and he must be close already, judging from the way he's biting his lip.

No, the difference is not in the tingle of sexual pleasure building inside her. It's in the tiny stutter of her heart as she looks down at him, admiring the line of his broad shoulders. And when he glances up at her, the expression in his eyes takes her breath away. Phryne reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead in a gesture of pure tenderness, unable to put her feelings into words.

He smiles, just for a moment, that sweet, crooked smile of his, and then his face turns serious again as he speeds up his thrusts and bends down to flick his tongue against her stiff nipple. She cries out, and she's close, so close, but it's not enough. Impatiently, she reaches down between them and touches herself, her fingers finding the perfect spot with assurance. Jack's eyes widen when he sees what she's doing, and he groans helplessly, his hips stuttering against her. He's losing it, his movements rough and jerky now, but it's all right, it's fine, because right then, she feels a raw surge of pleasure tearing through her, reaching its cusp in a single, blinding moment and she clenches hard around him as she screams in his arms.

There's no holding back for him after that, and she feels his release deep inside her, feels him go limp in her arms, his body suddenly heavy on top of her as his arms give in and he collapses. His breath is coming in quick, hard gasps. Their bodies are covered in sweat and the room smells of sex and exertion.

Phryne doesn't care. It's just as it should be. Jack has come after her, against all odds, defying all reason. He is in her arms, warm and real, and there's no place she'd rather be. With a shudder she realizes that she doesn't have the faintest idea where they will go from here. And that, too, is just as it should be.

Her biggest adventure yet.


End file.
